The echoes of ancient history whisper faintly, leaving fragments scattered across time. Authors, armed with these elusive whispers, must meticulously construct narratives, their materials riddled with doubt. David Hackett Fischer, in his "Historians' Fallacies," reminds us that certainty in historical writing is often a mirage, a "conceivably" masquerading as a "certainly." Yet, some scholars rise to the challenge, meticulously crafting structures of knowledge with unwavering dedication. Patrick Olivelle, in his masterpiece "Ashoka: Portrait of a Philosopher King," embodies this spirit, offering a monument of scholarship that illuminates the enigmatic figure of Ashoka.
Ashoka, the 3rd-century B.C. ruler of the Mauryan empire, remains shrouded in mystery. Known as a champion of religious tolerance, his story unfolds through two sources: partisan legends and his 38 surviving edicts. Carved on stone throughout his vast domain, these edicts, numbering roughly 4,600 words, speak through exhortation rather than autobiography. Discrete and concise, they echo to an audience lost to time.
While Plutarch suggests a connection between Ashoka's grandfather and Alexander the Great, reconstructing Ashoka's life faces challenges. No contemporary accounts exist, forcing reliance on these later edicts. Yet, within them, Mr. Olivelle identifies an "inscriptional Ashoka," a voice unclouded by the later idealizations of different sects. Our access to this authentic voice is a relatively recent phenomenon. In 1837, James Prinsep unlocked the secrets of the Brahmi script, the key to deciphering Ashoka's pronouncements. (Charles Allen's "Ashoka: The Search for India's Lost Emperor" chronicles this fascinating journey.)
Ashoka's life remains largely a mosaic of educated guesses. Certain facts are indisputable: his lineage descends from Chandragupta, who established the Mauryan dynasty. However, details of his birth and upbringing remain shrouded in conjecture. Even Ashoka himself remains silent on his ancestry, unlike the boastful proclamations of Persian kings. Mr. Olivelle suggests two intriguing reasons for this silence: a desire to erase a violent past or a revolutionary attempt to establish a new moral kingship.
Prior to Ashoka's reign, Indian kingship was defined by conquest and expansion. Around 260 B.C., Ashoka conquered Kalinga, but the aftermath marked a pivotal turning point. Rock Edict XIII reveals his profound remorse for the bloodshed, marking a dramatic shift towards embracing Dharma, the Buddhist teachings of compassion and non-violence. Ashoka wasn't renouncing war, but questioning its horrifying costs.
Dharma became the cornerstone of Ashoka's rule, the "glue" binding his people. He envisioned his kingdom as a family, himself as a benevolent father, and officials as nurturing parents. His edicts preached respect, honesty, generosity, self-restraint, and tolerance for other faiths. Minor Rock Edict I urges everyone, regardless of social status, to strive for a higher purpose. Ashoka's commitment extended beyond rhetoric, encompassing introspection, patronage of the arts, and an active, hands-on governing style.
Mr. Olivelle argues persuasively that Ashoka was not solely a "Buddhist king," but a king who embraced Buddhist philosophies. However, dismissing his faith as irrelevant would be ahistorical. Ashoka's tolerance stemmed from his Buddhist beliefs, similar to how Akbar's tolerance was rooted in Islam. The wonder lies in his ability to spread an inclusive message through reason, not force.
Patrick Olivelle's "Ashoka: Portrait of a Philosopher King" transcends mere biography. It's a detective story, meticulously piecing together fragments of the past. Olivelle doesn't shy away from acknowledging the ambiguity, presenting readers with a nuanced understanding of the emperor. Ashoka's legacy stretches beyond his conquests and inscriptions, reminding us that even in the face of uncertainty, the pursuit of truth and compassion remains a worthy endeavor.
